


Rejoice in my frustrations

by LiveOakWithMoss



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fingon having sex with someone other than Maedhros, Lord/Vassal Dynamics, M/M, PWP, Your OTP isn't monogamous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:31:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2064696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being High King has its frustrations, but Fingon finds ways to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rejoice in my frustrations

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. For context on (the not-strictly-canonical) Gelmir, see [“Should Others Come Between Us.”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1915647)  
> 1\. I imagine Fingon as an incredibly tactile, physically demonstrative person, and as such, I imagine a long-distance with relationship with someone, say, far away in Himring, might be hard. Which is why I say, throw monogamy out the door.

The king cast himself down in a chair and pulled the circlet from his dark hair. He dragged one hand across his face, looking exhausted. 

“A few more meetings like that and it won’t be Angband that brings me down,” he said, leaning into his hand. “My own councilors will be enough. Are we sure they’re not agents of Morgoth?” 

“Fairly certain, your highness,” said Gelmir, carefully retrieving the circlet from where the king had dropped it on the floor. “I am sure you could rest if you’d like me to tell your steward to - ” 

“I’m not tired,” said Fingon, and leaned back in his chair, impatiently undoing the ornate clasps on his formal robes. “I’m uncomfortable, and annoyed, and a terrible king.” He grinned, suddenly, at Gelmir. “Want to swap places?” 

“No thank you,” said Gelmir, going around behind Fingon’s chair and helping his lord shrug the robes from his shoulders. “I am happy enough as I am, sire.” 

“I don’t blame you,” said Fingon, freed from the robes and looking suddenly far younger in his plain undershirt and breeches. “Valar, the punch in the face I owe Maitimo for putting me in the line of succession…Sometimes I think it was all an elaborate prank to make me perpetually itchy, impatient, and wracked with self-doubt.” 

Gelmir smiled, though he felt the usual dark clench of his heart that came whenever the king spoke of his cousin. “A most elaborate prank indeed. Are you sure you don’t want to rest?” 

“No,” said Fingon. “I’m not tired, Gelmir. I’m – ” He dragged his fingers through his hair, rumpling his neat braids, and grimaced. “I’m frustrated.” 

“With anything in particular?” asked Gelmir, turning to hang Fingon’s formal robes in the wardrobe. 

Fingon shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m not frustrated _with_ anything – well, that’s not true. I’m deeply frustrated with my councilors’ inability to give me a straight answer to the most straightforward questions. ‘What exactly do you _mean_ by ‘How many apples do we need for 1,000 horses', sire?’ ” Fingon groaned. “Is there more than one way of interpreting that question? But no, what I meant was…” he trailed off, and shook his head self-deprecatingly. “I am frustrated _physically_.” 

Gelmir looked over his shoulder and saw Fingon leaning back in his chair, feet up on his desk, a rueful smile on his face. 

“I feel I sometimes crave touch like drunks crave strong drink, or the hungry crave food,” said Fingon. “Aren’t we supposed to leave such impulses behind in our youth? I was always told it would be so, but I have never found that the case. And it leaves me…frustrated.” 

Gelmir closed the wardrobe and crossed the room quietly. He laid a light hand on Fingon’s shoulder, and Fingon looked up at him, an inquisitive look in those clear eyes. “I can help you with that, if you wish it.” 

The look in Fingon’s eyes changed then, and the hunger there made Gelmir deeply appreciate how one could crave something with such force. Valar, how he craved his king. 

“Is that so?” said Fingon, in a low voice, reaching up to touch Gelmir’s cheek. 

“Yes,” said Gelmir. “You know you have only to ask, my king.”

“Fingon,” corrected Fingon, and he pulled Gelmir down into a kiss. 

It never grew old, the feeling of those warm lips under his; never ceased to set his heart racing and his whole body burning with desire. Gelmir closed his eyes and kissed his king back, one hand finding its way to Fingon’s hair, the other gripping the arm of the chair to keep himself from sliding forward into Fingon’s lap. 

He could feel Fingon smiling into their kiss, even as the king’s hand traced a path from his neck to his waist. “Don’t hold yourself back so,” he murmured. “I want to see you let yourself go…” 

And so Gelmir surged forward, kissing Fingon fiercely, pressing close until the arms of the chair proved a hindrance and Fingon laughed, rising and pushing him back, saying, “To the bed, by all means.” 

They fell together to the bed, Fingon tugging at Gelmir’s belt and muttering distractedly about how he’d have to see about redesigning the guards’ uniforms one of these days, entirely too many buckles, and Gelmir was kissing him again, to quiet him.  

Fingon lay back across the pillows and pulled Gelmir up against him, kissing him languidly and letting his hands wander across Gelmir’s chest, now laid bare of the constricting uniform, and Gelmir was shuddering at his touch. 

“Wait,” he said, as Fingon made to reach below his belt, and sank back on his heels, kneeling between Fingon’s legs. He pressed kisses to Fingon’s hard stomach, letting his tongue snake out to taste Fingon’s skin, feeling Fingon shift restlessly under him. 

He bent his head and tugged at the laces of Fingon’s breeches, feeling the heat in him build as he felt the evidence of his king’s arousal. 

“Gelmir,” Fingon began, and then groaned, letting his head drop back against the pillows as Gelmir freed him. 

“Yes,” whispered Gelmir, wrapping a hand around Fingon’s arousal and beginning to stroke. As Fingon’s breath came harder, Gelmir wet his lips and brought his mouth to Fingon’s cock. 

A strong hand fisted in his hair, and Gelmir moaned. Fingon whispered a curse as Gelmir held his hips down with one hand and dragged his tongue along the underside of Fingon’s cock. He fumbled with his free hand between his own legs, seeking his own almost painful erection as Fingon swore softly. 

“Merciful Manwë, if you’re not careful…” 

Gelmir just groaned again, mouth occupied, taking Fingon deeper. But soon the hand in his hair was moving to his shoulder, gently tugging him up. “Wait,” Fingon was saying. “Not just yet.” 

“I want – I can – I know you’re close,” said Gelmir, distracted, as Fingon nuzzled into the crook of his neck, pressing a kiss to his flushed skin. “I want to give you pleasure.” 

“I know, and you would have me finished in another moment,” murmured Fingon. “I’d rather make this last. And I’d rather we share in our pleasure.” 

Gelmir buried his face in Fingon’s shoulder, gasping as Fingon wrapped a hand around his thigh, pulling Gelmir’s leg over his lap, so that he was straddling his king. “Your highness…” 

“I promise you can call me Fingon,” said Fingon, catching his face between his hands and meeting his gaze with warm, laughing blue eyes. “I’m not one of those men who gets off on being called ‘lord’ in bed.” 

Gelmir laughed, despite himself. “I know you’re not, my – Fingon.” 

“That’s better,” said Fingon, and kissed him, moving his hips so that their erections brushed against each other. 

“Oh – ” 

“That’s right,” murmured Fingon, wrapping a hand around them both. “Let me see you, Gelmir. Don’t hold back.” 

Gelmir let his head fall forward, pressing their foreheads together, panting as Fingon’s hand moved steadily over them. “Please,” he managed at last, shaking with the effort of keeping himself in control. “ _Please,_ Fingon…I want to feel you inside me.” 

Fingon groaned, and reached for the oil he kept by the bed. “Ai, what it does to me, hearing you say that…” 

“ _Good_.” 

“Easy,” Fingon said, as Gelmir pushed desperately against him. “Let me prepare you.” 

“I don’t need it,” said Gelmir, and lowered his head to bite Fingon’s shoulder. “I need you, in me, now.” 

“So pushy,” whispered Fingon, a delighted laugh in his voice, and he complied. 

Gelmir braced his hands on Fingon’s broad chest, letting himself sink down slowly as Fingon’s hands tightened reflexively on his hips. 

“Easy,” Fingon said again, but Gelmir had no interest in going slow. He rose up again, thighs clenching around Fingon’s waist, and brought himself down with a sharp gasp, pleasure and pain twanging through him. 

“Ai, you devil,” said Fingon, and rolled them both over. He braced himself over Gelmir and gazed down at him with mild reproach. “What about ‘make it last’ don’t you understand, soldier?” 

“I guess you’re not the only one who gets impatient, your highness,” said Gelmir, and cried out as Fingon latched his mouth to Gelmir’s throat and began to move in strong, steady thrusts. 

“Insubordination,” Fingon murmured against his neck. “Lack of discipline…I should have you sacked.” 

“As long as you finish fucking me first, sire,” said Gelmir, distracted and digging his fingers into Fingon’s back, and Fingon laughed freely and kissed him. 

Soon they were moving easily together, breath coming sharply, and Fingon’s hair was loose and wild around them both, curtains of black and gold hanging around Gelmir. He wound his fingers into the long strands and pulled Fingon into another long kiss, tightening his legs around Fingon’s waist and tilting his hips. 

Fingon groaned wildly into the kiss and surged forward.

“Fingon – ah – I’m so close…” 

“Yes,” whispered Fingon. “Yes, Gelmir, Eru, you’re beautiful like this.” And Gelmir cried out, arching his back, and came with his king’s lips pressed to his throat. 

Fingon shuddered over him, and buried his face in Gelmir’s shoulder, spilling into him at last with a long groan. 

Gelmir closed his eyes, feeling his pulse slow as he carded his fingers through the tousled black hair and felt Fingon stir against him. His fingers found Fingon’s ear and gently traced it to the point, lightly playing with the silver of his earrings. Fingon shivered at the touch, but gently pulled free and collapsed on the pillow next to him, draping an arm over Gelmir’s waist. 

“Thank you,” said Fingon at last, eyes closed. 

“Is your frustration lessened, my king?” asked Gelmir, and Fingon kicked lightly at him. 

“Yes, _my guard_ , and I really do insist that anyone I take to my bed call me by my name.” 

“Yes, Fingon,” said Gelmir, and smiled as Fingon kissed his cheek. “But you will always be my king.”


End file.
